


Alas Para Volar

by crazychelseablue



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Historical, M/M, Spanish Civil War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-21
Updated: 2015-06-30
Packaged: 2018-03-14 11:35:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3409085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crazychelseablue/pseuds/crazychelseablue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>GITANO. He inventado unas alas para volar, y vuelo. Azufre y rosa en mis labios.<br/>TENIENTE CORONEL. ¡Ay!<br/>GITANO. Aunque no necesito alas, porque vuelo sin ellas. Nubes y anillos en mi sangre.</p><p>-<i>Escena del Teniente Coronel de la Guardia Civil</i>  by Federico García Lorca</p><p>Gypsy: I have created wings for flying, and I fly. Sulfur and rose on my lips.<br/>Lieutenant Colonel: Ay!<br/>Gypsy: Although I don't need wings, because I fly without them. Clouds and rings in my blood.</p><p>-<i>Scene of the Lieutenant Colonel of the Civil Guard</i>  by Federico García Lorca</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> The story title comes from the poem in the description and I'll probably take a lot of chapter titles from it as well. I connected this poem with this story not only because of Lorca, but also because Sergio Ramos is a major character in this story and his nickname is gypsy.
> 
> I'll do my best to make this story historically accurate, but seeing as I'm human and by no means an expert on the Spanish Civil War I'm sure there will be some inaccuracies. I may also take some creative liberties...

_“José Calvo Sotelo, the 1st Duke of Calvo Sotelo, is dead.”_ The voice of the newsman emanated weakly from the small radio atop the mantlepiece, fighting to be heard through a sea of static. Friends and neighbors huddled close together in the parlor of the Torres apartment, waiting for any indication of what would happen next. _“He is believed to have been murdered by left wing activists after a dispute that took place between himself and members of the Partido Socialista Obrero Español and Partido Comunista de España in parliament today. Government officials from both the Socialist and Communist parties have refused to make any statement upon this event. Madrid police are in an ongoing investigation, but have yet to make any arrests.”_  
“So this is how it begins...” Iker murmured.  
“I just hope Raúl knows what he’s doing.” Fernando sighed. “We should find Sergio. It’s not safe out there.”  
“For any of us,” Iker added. “Least of all him.”  
As they stepped out into the empty street, each felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. “I’ll take La Corona de Oro and La Dama Afortunada." Iker said as he scanned the street for any sign that they were being watched. "You check Vilanova’s place.”  
“Got it. I’ll see you back at the apartment. We had better get off the streets.”  
“Wait, Fernando!” Iker’s harsh whisper stopped Fernando mid-step. Iker leaned in until his lips almost brushed Fernando’s ear. “Que viva España!”  
“Sí. Que viva España, mi hermano.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Partido Socialista Obrero Español- Spanish Socialist Workers' Party  
> Partido Comunista de España- Communist Party of Spain


	2. El Gitano Apeleado

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An introduction to the revolutionaries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are appreciated, good or bad.

Sergio sat nursing yet another beer in one of the many dingy bars that he often frequented. He had lost track of how many drinks he’d had, but then again, he didn’t really care anyway. His eyes darted once again towards the pretty little thing sitting a few stools down. Dark hair, long eyelashes, full lips, and a short and neatly trimmed beard. He was slim but strong. Sergio could tell that there was muscle beneath the well tailored grey suit. He always could.

"Hey there." He said, sliding over to the stool next to his drug of choice. He had perfected the art of still sounding sober whilst being incredibly drunk. One of the perks of near constant inebriation.

The man eyed him suspiciously. "Hello," he said before turning pointedly back to his scotch. But Sergio didn't give up that easily.

"What do you say we get out of here," he leaned in close, alcohol-laden breath ghosting over the man's neck.

"What the fuck?" The man shouted, shoving Sergio back and sending him sprawling. "Guardia Civil, you freak," he said, whipping a badge out of his pocket. 

"Hey, hey, hey!" A tall, freckled man with neatly combed chestnut hair and an only slightly worn tan suit stepped in between Sergio and the Guardia officer. "I'm sorry officer. We were drinking a bit too much and we made a stupid bet. We bet him a hundred pesetas that he would go up to you and pretend to be a _maricón_. It was stupid, sir. We shouldn't even pretend to be one of those disgusting creatures. My apologies." He reached a hand down to help Sergio up. "Let's go, Manuel," he said, gripping the intoxicated man's arm firmly and practically hauling him out of the pub.

When they were safely two blocks away, Sergio was shoved into a narrow alley and held roughly against the wall, his savior's arm crushing his Adam's apple. "You trying to get yourself killed?" his savior growled.

"Nando," he breathed.

"Don't 'Nando' me. What the fuck were you thinking?"

"He looked gay!"

"For fucks sake, Sergio! We can't afford to have you guessing in seedy bars! We are trying to fight a fucking war!"

"How was I supposed to know he was one of Franco's pets? Fuck you and all your self-righteous bullshit, Nando. Fuck you."

"Don't you fucking dare give me that. I saved your life back there."

"No you didn't, Fernando. I'm already dead."

* * *

"No," Raúl said with finality, folding his arms and leaning back against the mantelpiece of his dingy apartment's 'sitting room.'

"Raúl," David pleaded. "Be reasonable, please. It's not safe for you here. We shouldn't be in the capital. Iker and Fernando can keep an eye on things here."

"It's not safe for any of us here, David. But if not here in the capital, fighting, where should we be?"

"Somewhere safe, _leading!_ " David ran his hands frustratedly through his hair.

"And where do you suppose we go? The whole country is falling apart!" Raúl slammed his hand against the mantle, sending little pieces of chipped white paint floating to the floor.

"There is a safe house in the Basque Country. Xabi Alonso is waiting for you there. I’ll make my way to Valencia to organize the men there.”

“I can’t hide in the Basque Country while the fight goes on here! Spain is falling apart at the seams and it all begins here in Madrid. If we lose Madrid we lose democracy.”

“Raúl,” David grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him, trying to make him understand. “You have to go!” His voice softened. “Please, for me, _your friend_ , please stay alive. Please go. We need you Raúl. You’re the only one who can lead us.”

* * *

Xavi was slumped over on his desk, getting his first bit of sleep in the last two days, when Cesc cracked the door open and peeked in. "He's sleeping," he whispered to the man standing behind him.

"Good," Andrés replied. "He needs it."

Cesc closed the door gently and turned just in time to see Gerard walk into their crammed little office on the outskirts of Barçelona.

"Any word from Madrid?" he asked, sitting down at his cramped little desk. He removed his jacket and draped it over the back of his chair like this were a normal business and a normal work day instead of midnight at the headquarters of the Catalán resistance.

"No, nothing yet," Andrés replied, moving towards his own desk.

The office was small; nothing but one office and a reception area (which the three men used as their office.) Gerard and Andrés worked at desks on either side of the main door. Francesc had a desk position right outside of Xavi's office, like a secretary almost. Xavi, as the leader of the entire resistance in Catalunya, had his own little office. How they managed to stay undetected was a mystery to everyone. Of course, their office hours went from 10pm to 6am, but still. No amount of care should've been able to hide them from the Guardia Civil. The self-proclaimed "Caudillo" was cracking down on Catalunya.

"Despite the silence from Madrid," Andrés said, searching the plethora of papers atop his desk, "we have had word from Silva in Valencia and Xabi in the Basque Country. Apparently Villa has organized passage for himself and Raul from Madrid to Valencia. From there, Xabi will escort Raúl safely to the Basque Country. Villa will remain in Valencia to help lead the resistance there."

"Does Xavi know?" Cesc asked.

"Xavi is asleep," Andrés said as if talking to a child, "and unless you'd like to be the one to wake him, the news can wait until he's rested."


End file.
